thiscurrentlyhasnoofficialtitle
by thecheeseypizza
Summary: {Three pairings. Three stories. Three endings. All entwined somehow by the gnarled hand of fate.} I assume this is what you would call a 'trilogy'.
1. Bright as Day

A freaking flying motorbike.

Those boys never know when to quit, don't they? Matching T-shirts. Fist bumps. They treat this war like a game of Risk.

But it makes her (for one, full delighted minute) laugh as they stare in admiration at their creation, leather jacket and pyjama bottom clad, tall, six feet-ish tall boys whom have each claimed a place in her heart.

"Stupid," she laughs, shaking her head, "Ridiculous."

"Ah, you know you love us," the teasing reply comes.

Honestly, her red hair stands out in the dark starry night, as bright as fire, her vivacious spark as warm as flame.

He's in love with her because of those qualities. (And many more he fails to mention.)

They watch as the motorbike revs up, and shoots up into the sky, igniting the night sky with streak light, like a falling star of flame across paper. It makes them remember, shakes them out of their reverie.

They're only so young yet they seem so old. This war, it's made everything as night as dark, and there are some days where they're scared they won't return home.

(When will you be leaving?)

She can't face an empty house, so she wraps her arms around him instead.

(Day after tomorrow.)

He senses the lingering question in her eyes, green and vivid and bright. He wants them to be the last thing he looks at, he realizes, if he dies.

And they trudge on to the next chapter of their weary, war ridden lives, offering condolences and tears, clenched jaws and raised fists.

She thought she was sick of fighting but it's worse not knowing about what's happening in this twisted world. Her mind, oh, it's going mad.

He thought he knew his friends, but it's worse when secrets are spilled and doors are slammed. His senses, oh, they're unweaving.

So one night they look out the window and a star whizzes by.

(Make a wish, papa!)

His son coos, and he doesn't hear the click of the gate opening, doesn't feel the protection wavering-

The door is blasted open and unsaid exchanges of goodbyes and '_I love you_'s hang in the air and he straightens his back, defiant, and looks up at the stars littering the night sky.

And oh my word, they are as bright as day.


	2. And You (Let Her Go)

He should have never given up on her.

All those attempts, trials and faliures, what did they matter now, when she was there, holding someone else's hand and laughing at his jokes?

(But dreams come slow)

And they go so fast, like all hopes do, like all colour when it drains out from a perfect day, like all happiness when it is taken away.

(You see her when you fall asleep)

Never to touch, and never to keep, because she was afraid, wasn't she? You were three steps forward. She was three steps back, on the verge of turning and running away into someone else's arms.

(You loved her too much)

And you dived too deep into her emotions, put her on a pedestal to worship, and she so obviously didn't like it.

(Because love comes slow)

And it goes so fast. He wonders if she knows what heartbreak feels like now, did she love the other that much? Well, she shouldn't have loved him; she could have done so much better.

But if he asked her that Saturday, couldn't he have prevented her heartbreak? Her feelings were his, and they were raw and as undiluted as harsh reality.

He sounds like such a hypocrite because that was what he'd done. He played with fire and he got burned.

(Well you let her go)

Oh, it was for her own good, he reasons, but he fails to see the outcome in the end. She knows he's hurt him because she can see it in his eyes when he saw her with him. It was inevitable, the breakup.

But if he asked her, couldn't he have stopped it?

(You only know your lover)

When you let her go, he realises, and it's that brief moment when she passes by him and she raises her head and there's an unidentified feeling in your chest as she says, awkwardly:

"Hey."

(And you let her go.)


	3. If (It's Love)

He's talking to Sirius and Molly when he sees a flash of bright bubblegum pink hair.

And his heart can't help but flutter.

(Remember Winger, I digress)

"I confess you are the best thing in my life," He says promptly, spinning around and sighing when he catches the quizzical look on his best friend's face from the reflection in his bathroom mirror.

"Too formal?"

(There's no happy endings, no Henry Lee)

But you are the greatest thing about me, he sighs, as he watches her laughing at the dinner table, her ever changing eyes shining.

'You're just friends', he reminds himself, 'Stop over-thinking.'

(Love, love, love)

"We've got to have something to keep us together," She jokes lightly, referring to their nightly duties, as they're sitting back to back in the Department of Mysteries corridor, wands drawn, on their jobs.

"Yeah," He swallows, "Yeah."

(I wanna buy you everything, except cologne)

"Cause it's poison!" He exclaims, throwing his hands up in the air as they walk on the snow covered streets, side by side, "How can someone even like chewing gum?" He questions, being the chocoholic he is.

But when he sees her indigo Cadbury chocolate-wrapper eyes get closer he can't resist.

(And if we decide that it's forever)

No one else could do it better, Sirius smiled, as he watched both of them yell, laugh and chase each other as they tossed snow at each other as if they were kids, eventually ending up on the frozen ground and sealing the gap with a kiss. They clicked so well.

He hadn't felt so happy for someone else ever since James and Lily.

(And if I'm addicted to loving you)

"And you're addicted to my love too," She teases, and her hair is the same colour as his today as they walk along her neighbourood.

She sits down on a swing set and he takes the one at the side, and they're both trying to out-swing the other so much that they might as well go flying.

(I'm not in it to win it)

I'm in it for you, he smiles, tucking a strand of pink hair behind her ear. He would've never gotten through the second war and his lycanthrope if it weren't for her. Winning the war would be nice. Losing and a guarantee that he'd be with her?

Better.

(Love, love, love)

'And she loves me back,' he writes, to his best friend, the penmanship impeccable and the writing characteristicaly neat.

'That's enough for me.'

{end.}


End file.
